


our hearts ablaze

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were just too different, and if Sansa had gone back to her home maybe none of this would have happened. But she hadn’t, and Jon brought her back up the mountain. Written for the jon x sansa remix</p>
            </blockquote>





	our hearts ablaze

He should have dragged her up the mountain himself the moment he realized she hadn’t gone home. It made him shake as he brought her back, images still flashing through his head. He’d witnessed death before, returning Arya home had forced him to take more lives than he could count. Jon could have been on the guard if he weren’t in charge of the mountain. He never saw death like that. 

Hesitantly Sansa’s hand found his where they’d wrapped around her middle, and he considered how unfair it was that she should comfort him when she’d been in the middle of the action.That she should comfort him when he’d offered her so little in the time she shared his home. 

“You’re shaking,” she said, and her hand tightened around his. She wasn’t frightened, he was familiar with her fear. Oddly, kneeling a breath away from being found out she held her shoulders square. Still it was there in her eyes when he spoke, an exhale of relief when he offered his hand down to her. Her breathing broke into choked sobs as soon as they ascended the mountain. 

She’d been through more in her time under his protection than she’d ever been through in her life, Jon would bet. To watch seven unarmed men slaughtered before your eyes, nothing prepared you for that. The sun was high in the sky when he rode down the mountain with Tormund to take Sam away, now it was setting. 

Nan wrapped Sansa in a blanket the moment she climbed from his horse, and he wished her hand was still over his to ground him. The eyes on him wanted answers, why had they brought the prisoner up the mountain almost as soon as they’d taken him away? What was this talk of murders in the Valley? He tried to explain, but was hardly heard over Sam’s wails. When he listened he realized the wails were names.

“What’s he doing?” Grenn cried out, and Jon snapped. Grenn was the oldest of the lads who ran around the mountain, Jon grabbed him by the collar.

“See these seven,” he started gruffly, “imagine being on one side of the stream while some one killed each one of them before you. And there was nothing you could do because Tormund and I were holding you back, so you wouldn’t get yourself killed.” Grenn looked at him with alarm. 

Then Jon grabbed Sansa by the shoulders, and Nan cautioned him sharply. Gently as he could, he moved the hair off of her neck exposing the etching. “See this woman, she’s just like our queen. Marked as a slave to do things we don’t want to imagine happening to our own, things we could never imagine.” He pulled Grenn to Sansa, “protect her as you would our Queen, treat her as you would Arya.”

He ended his night barking orders that the Valley at the base of the mountain be looked after, archers in trees at all times. There would be no more bloodshed on his watch.

***

“I only wanted to help,” Sansa focused on the hot brew before her, wrapping her bare hands around it to stop the shaking. Jon’s bearskin cloak was still over her shoulders, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She was tired of seeing the disappointment there; disappointed that she was from the South, disappointed that she couldn’t look after herself like one of the girls on his mountain, disappointed by her tears. 

“Edd and his bull are my problem, not yours. I don’t expect you to solve the issues my people have.” His voice was gruff, but when she risked a glance she was surprised to see that he was looking at her with a gentleness that she did not see often in him. 

“I want to be of some use, if I am to live here I won’t let them think I’m incapable of anything,” Rather she wanted to change their minds. Riding back up the mountain was a second chance at everything and Sansa wanted for it all to be better. Helping Edd find his bull hadn’t made much of a difference, and she ended up losing her temper in a way that embarrassed her beyond words. 

She wasn’t sure how much her husband, no not her husband for he made that very clear in the past, had heard. Edd didn’t even thank her for her help, she knew Jon stayed to have a word with him, but honestly it was like she was still south of the Wall under lock and key. She longed for the Gift, the land that rested between their kingdoms. Where she stayed instead of returning home after Jon sent her away, gods how humiliating it was to be sent down a mountain without being given proper chance. 

She wept in the Valley, she only needed time to grow accustomed to the ways of the Mountain, to steel herself against their abrupt way of speaking, to understand what they expected of her. Jon didn’t know any of that, he never asked, or appeared interested at all. He didn’t even lay with her but the once. He seemed cold and gruff all of the time, not like the boy she was promised to as a child.

She wondered if the death of his father that caused him to act so brusquely toward everyone. Sometimes from her cot, well into the night she wondered what he was like before, before he was responsible for a rowdy lot, before he had to kill men to take back a kingdom he loved. Would he be the same with any woman? Was it her blood that made him so cold in the past?

“We’ll have to get you a cloak of your own, winters are the harshest on the mountain.” She could smell the sandalwood of his soap on the bearskin, it made her blush, reminding her of the time when she shared his bed. 

“Do you mean for me to stay here?” She asked hesitantly. From what she understood of the arrangement, she would remain on the mountain until the threat in the valley was gone, sleeping separate from him by her own decision. Most mornings when she woke he wasn’t there any way, probably in the bed of some Mont girl. Sansa wasn’t sure she could live every day like that.

“Would you prefer one of your caves on the Gift?” He wondered with hurt. 

“You cannot even bring yourself to stay here, why should I?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked defensively, “I’ve hardly had a moment’s peace since yesterday morning. I’ve been gone keeping this mountain in order; Nan needed me to move some grain, Pyp’s cow was birthing all night, and all the while preparations for winter had to be made.” Jon said, finally focusing on her, “and my wife-“

“I’m not your wife,” Sansa snapped and Jon’s eyes widened. “I’m not your wife when it’s convenient for you to say so, not when everyone knows the truth. The whole of this kingdom knows that you sent me away deigning me too useless.”

“I sent you away because you were unhappy. Your tears begged me to send you away.” Jon scrubbed a hand across his face, a reaction that was all too familiar. “Why didn’t you tell me about the mark?”

“Would it have made a difference?” She hated to hear about the curse, a punishment for every man and woman south of the wall, a curse that kept her hidden away.

“It might have,” and she sighed feeling disappointed herself. She only wanted someone to love her for who she was, but perhaps that was too much to ask for.

***  
He rode down with Grenn and Sansa the next day, intent on changing her mind. Perhaps meaning to make up for his past behavior as well. There were moments, even in that first disastrous attempt at marriage that he found himself endeared to his wife. In the moments she wasn’t sobbing on his bed, he thought having a wife might even be nice. Maybe he should have spoken with Sansa before sending her back, and perhaps he deserved the cool treatment she gave him after that day in the valley.

She got along fine with Grenn, who coaxed laughs and teasing jokes from her. Even at his best Jon wasn’t sure he could make her smile like that, even if they were always on good terms. He watched as Dalla embraced her firmly, before gripping her chin in her hand. 

Jon had watched grown men tremble when they stood so close to Dalla, Sansa, his frightened, weeping wife met her eye with squared shoulders. She nodded in response to something Dalla said, and the pair of them cast him a glance. 

“Do you think they’re talking about you?” Grenn asked, having already tied up their horses. Jon glared at him, “I was only asking.”

“Jon?” Sansa approached them with an arm outstretched, “they’ll want to meet you.” 

Her people. He didn’t want to remind her that he had met them before, and it had not gone well. They asked for rights to the land, land that belonged to his cousin; they asked to cross beyond the wall despite their past persecution of his people. Arya denied their claims with vehemence and left Jon to deliver the news. They all adored Sansa, and Jon wasn’t sure that sending her from the Mountain helped his case with them.

Stannis was in the vegetable patch with his wife and daughter when they approached. He stood brushing the dirt from his breeches, he extended his hand and Jon knew to take it, a southron gesture. The brother and sister, Edmure and Lysa were near and upon seeing Sansa made their way over as well. 

“More have come since you left,” Stannis said with a tilt of his head toward the guards. White cloaks, palace guards, but according to Sansa there was little honor among them. Jon knew she spoke the truth, what sort of men killed those who were unarmed? He shuddered to remember that day, the same sort of men who would have taken Sansa to their Capitol if they saw the brand on her neck. If he had been just a moment later she would be lost to him. 

She started to feel his hand on her back, looking at him curiously. “Are you all right my-Jon,” she caught herself quickly and he felt shame overcome him. He knew he’d insisted, just after the wedding, she not use such courtesies with him, perhaps in a way less gentle than she deserved. He wanted to make up for it all. 

“Fine,” he insisted quickly, berating himself when her head turned sharply to look at him. Taking a moment he tried again, “will you show me the camp?”

“I’m worried there won't be much for you to see,” but that couldn’t be true, not when she spent so much of her time in the Valley. In the short time they’d been down she’d come to life, everything about her seemed to glow and Jon wished anything about the Mountain would bring the same feelings out of her. 

“I don’t believe that, not through your eyes,” she turned her head, presumably to look at Dalla, before nodding. She didn’t reach for his hand, in fact, she kept her own hands clasped decidedly at her middle. 

“Dalla said they’ve separated the men and the women after they- after,”

“After they killed those men,” he finished for her. Gendry told him the men and women were separated in exile camps often; when his father led the mountain into exile things stayed as they were. He couldn’t imagine anyone on his mountain being separated from one another by force. 

The first cave housed four sick, elderly men. Sansa took a spot beside a mumbling man, and Jon watched her come alive. She tended to the dying man, for he was very clearly dying, gently and with purpose. Her attention bounced around the cave, even without a glance his way Jon knew she hadn’t forgotten about him; mostly she stayed focused on the man whose breath had gotten shallow. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Jon asked softly, and without looking away from the man Sansa replied,

“Will you get Dalla, or one of her girls?” And though her smile didn’t falter he knew why she needed them. He rushed to the stream that separated the North from the South, where Dalla’s camp sat. She saw him wading through the water, and her sharp grey eyes narrowed.

“What’s wrong?” She brushed her skirts and walked briskly toward him. “Where’s Sansa?” 

“In a cave,” the wild panic left her eyes and she nodded. Jon helped her over the stream, lifting her so her feet wouldn’t get wet, as he did for Arya, like his father used to do for the women of the mountain. Dalla seemed to know which cave he meant because she led him back to where Sansa sat smiling sadly. 

Jon stood at the mouth of the cave watching them interact, Dalla’s hand moving comfortingly across Sansa’s back, “you’ve done all you can, I’ll take care of everything.” She looked back to Jon and tipped her head toward Sansa indicating it was time to take her to the next cave. 

He watched her wipe her blue eyes against her sleeve quickly before turning her attention to him as though nothing happened. The moment was seared in Jon’s memory, and he felt the melancholy of it in his heart. Sansa continued to walk, and he wondered if she felt the same sorrow.

She brought him to more caves, he met Stannis’ daughter, a little thing who blushed upon meeting him. Sansa sat with Shireen smoothing out her hair, and pulling it into a braid. Jon realized why her hair was in her face to start, she’d been cursed with dragon scale, as well as a traitor’s brand; most caves were filled with hollow-eyed men or women, people who had seen more hardship than they ever expected in only a few months. They brightened at the sight of Sansa. Jon was beginning to understand why she insisted on coming down the Mountain only to see death, and sadness. It shamed him that he hadn’t recognized the strength in her before.

The last cave was filled with chatty old women who reminded him of Nan’s sisters. Their accents were thick, and it was all he could do to nod and agree. One of them took his hand in her gnarled one, then reached for Sansa’s. She brought them together and said something that stained Sansa’s cheeks a pretty shade of pink even as she shook her head.

“What did she say?” He asked as they made their way back down the cliffs toward the stream. 

“Nothing,” she said, but he knew she was lying, and when she realized he wouldn’t move until she explained she said, “Even though they have their health, sometimes their minds are confused. Some of them see things, or they think they do.” She continued walking then, and the discussion was over. He remembered Sam talking about it, when he was still in the little Mountain prison.

There was magic in the South, where there were once dragons, and fortune tellers, and witches. The royal house, the Targaryen’s carried most of the magic in their blood, but there were some who had the gift. At least that’s what Sam told him. Those who could prove their gifts were safe when it came time to mark the traitor’s children. Those who argued against the Northern invasion, who spoke out against the crown in any way, were punished over the years. 

Sansa’s father rebelled often, he didn't agree with much of what Aerys did, and until Sansa’s birth he had little to fear. There was little else he could do besides betroth her, and hope she married before the mad king died, for when he did the threat of dragon fire became more than probable.

Jon waded into the water, reaching and lifting Sansa across absently. He heard her breath catch, and when he stepped out of the water to walk alongside her he realized she was blushing. He couldn’t figure out why, but realized whatever it was put a bright smile across her face that very nearly took his breath away.

“May I ride back with you?” Sansa asked, almost shyly, when the horses were within eyeshot. Grenn walked ahead untying, and readying them for the trip back. Sansa’s eyes were cast down, and Jon’s heart ached to realize she expected him to reject her. 

“Only if you’d like to,” 

That night, after he moved the kitchen table to the side, and watched her lay out her cot, he tried to sleep. The fire was reduced to embers when he heard her rise, and shuffle. From his bed heard her sing just outside of the cottage, her voice a soft soprano carrying across the mountain. It was a song he’d never heard before, but the harder he listened the more he realized it was no song at all, but a name. Sam wanted to sing his lads into their deaths, just as Sansa sang for the dead man in the cave.

Rolling over he realized that he enjoyed her company that day. He liked watching her work, and realized that she certainly knew more than he gave her credit for. What’s more he realized that if he let himself, he could fall in love with her. And maybe, he was already a little bit in love with her.  
***  
“He’s asleep,” she hissed through the door, cracked only slightly. Edd glowered at her,

“Well wake him up,” he tried to peer around to confirm her story but Sansa wouldn’t budge. 

“Give me a minute and I’ll be right out, I was able to help well enough last time.” The monts had been in the cottage well into the night asking all sorts of mad things of Jon. That he personally build the wall between their kingdoms higher, that he mend half of the fences across the mountain, and go to the Flatlands and negotiate trades with the lords there. 

Sansa wanted to send them away when she saw the slump of Jon’s shoulders. Though they’d warmed to her over the weeks she knew her influence didn’t go far among his people. She’d fallen asleep to their voices, and woken to Edd’s knocking.

Her cloak hung beside Jon’s, one she brought from Winterfell with a fox fur collar. Jon laughed when he saw it, said it wouldn’t do much to hold off the bite of a mountain winter. He would probably be gone by the time she got back; she pulled it on anyway and slipped out of the door quietly.

Edd grumbled as they searched. Sansa, still bleary-eyed, managed to ignore most of his mumblings. “It’s your people, coming up here and making mischief.”

“My people?” Sansa scoffed in the most unladylike fashion, “my people don’t have the strength for mischief, my people hardly have the strength to breathe.” She was determined to find that bull now, clenching her frozen hands she marched forward. The bull was in a field halfway down the mountain when she spotted it. She helped Edd wrangle the bull up the hill and sat in his warm kitchen while he built a shrine to the Old Gods, thanking them for the bull’s safe return. 

Jon was gone by the time she returned, and she didn’t see him until dinner that night when Gendry, the queen’s consort, joined them, along with Captain Stark. Mance, of the Queensguard, and Dalla joined them as well, and the small kitchen felt cozy and warm when it was filled with guests. She loved when the cottage felt like a home.

There were a great many things she liked about their guests, like the easy way Mance ate while taking Dalla’s hand in his own, Gendry’s stories about growing up with Jon and Robb, talking made things better of that she was sure. It lessened their grief over the loss of their friend. 

Gendry’s stories so often involved Arya, it brightened his face to talk about her. Sansa wondered what it would feel like to have someone think of her so highly, to look at her like Mance did Dalla when he didn’t think anyone was looking. She used to dream of that when she was a girl. It was how her father used to act with her mother. 

It made her heart ache to know her marriage would never bring her such affection. Even if she and Jon were on better terms than they had been in the past, a friendship of sorts. It wouldn’t do to hope for more, dwelling had only brought grief, and she was determined to be a useful sort of wife if she was not an adored one. And it would start with the mystery of Edd’s bull.

“Sansa,” Dalla called form her seat, “sit down, there’s no need to fuss.” She didn’t know where she was meant to sit, it was why she spent so much time moving about. When it was only them she took the spot on the bench across from him, and the nights Dalla and Mance sat with them she ended up sitting beside Dalla. Now with the table so full, mostly with broad men, she chose not to worry and busied herself with dishing stew into bowls, stew she’d learned to make herself thank you very much, and keeping their cups filled. 

Jon moved to budge over, letting her take the edge of the bench. The conversation around them continued but he mumbled “you haven’t eaten.”

“Oh,” she paused, “I suppose I haven’t.” She had been caught up in the domesticity of it all, a rarity in this cottage. Everyone at home expected it was her purpose in life to care for others. 

“Stay, I’ll get it for you.” He insisted when she goes to stand, clambering from his spot. Nobody batted an eye when he went to the fire and filled a bowl for her. She ate slowly, listening as Gendry told a story from their boyhood. Jon stared at the table, and when the story reached its climax she realized why. 

“A snake bit me, do you remember?” he looked to Jon who nodded. “Robb, he wanted to run for help, but you knew that wouldn’t work.” Jon fidgeted uncomfortably, “sucked the poison out himself, and then carried me across his back back to the palace.”

“You did?” Sansa couldn’t help but wonder aloud, looking at Jon with wide eyes. 

He shrugged, clearly ready for the conversation to end. “Yeah, it was something I heard Ned talk about before.” 

“Still, it’s awfully brave.” Sansa hummed. Something knights in the songs did. She expected Jon was brave, as a girl she imagined him to be. He stood up to the white cloaks in the Valley when they tried to take her away, her heart threatened to leap out of her chest that day but he seemed calm until they rode away. She could still feel the rhythm of his heart against her hand. 

When everyone left, making their way to the big house to stay Sansa watched Gendry clap Jon on the shoulder and say something that put such a wistful look on Jon’s face she turned and pretended she didn’t see it at all. His hand was cold, but gentle when he came back inside, moving her away from the table that she tried to push against the wall. 

He cleared the area with little effort, so her cot could go close to the fire. She had started to wash the dishes, only to run out of water in the pail she used. Turning she saw Jon’s brow drawn in deep concentration, he meant to say something, but when he opened his mouth he hesitated.

“Jon?” 

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head. She didn’t believe him, but it was already so late and she would have to walk down the mountain and back to the well. Pail in hand she made for the door, pulling on her fox fur coat.

“That can wait until morning can’t it?” Jon moved to where she stood, reaching for the bucket she carried.

“Neither of us seem to have much time in the morning,” Sansa said, holding back a yawn, fastening the clasp at her throat. Besides, she would have time to collect her thoughts before she fell asleep, instead of sharing them with Jon from her cot. 

“I’ll come with you then,” he sighed, shrugging on his own cloak in a way that was entirely natural to Jon. He traded her his gloves for the bucket, and together they made their way down to the well. “You don’t have to come, you were gone early this morning.”

“It was only Edd’s bull again.” Jon sighed beside her, air fogging before his face. “I know you say it’s your problem but really Jon, sharing your burdens isn’t a weakness.” 

“They expect a lot, my father solved everything.”

“It’s very sad he’s gone,” she started, pausing to gauge his reaction, “but you are their leader now. You can follow his example without his every move and they’ll still respect you.” He scoffed, and she gave him a look, though the subject was delicate she found it easy to speak with him about it. “The only person on this mountain who does not acknowledge the leader is the leader himself.”

She could feel the snow sinking into her boots, maybe she’d gone too far. She’d probably upset him, just because he’d been kind to her these past weeks didn’t mean he required her opinions regarding his running of the mountain. “It doesn’t seem like I can do anything right.” Jon said finally. “Every decision I make he would make a better one.”

“Your decisions are just fine, or if you were to delegate and have everyone help each other they could be better. You don’t want your father here because he would be a better leader, you want him here because you miss him.”

“How do you do that?” He asked, sounding a little wonderstruck.

“Do what?” 

“You know what to say all the time.” Jon shrugged, stopping at the well. Sansa considered that.

“I don’t though,” not always. He lifted his brows at her and drew the pail back up. “I don’t!” She insisted as he started to lead her back home. Her heart gave a tug and she realized she imagined it was how her marriage would be when she was a girl. Well, not so late at night, but she heard her parents talk before, when everyone else was asleep. They were so comfortable, and it brought out a mad urge in her to reach for Jon’s hand. 

She couldn’t look at him as she did it, her septa would have been scandalized by such boldness. Jon’s hand flexed in hers, then he jerked his arm, drawing her closer. She chanced a look at him through her lashes, smiling when she realized he was looking at her too.

“I’m happy you stayed,” Jon said as they drew closer to home. 

“Me too,” she said, hardly a whisper. 

Then she heard a squeak, or a creak, something so out of place on the mountain at this hour. “Did you hear that?” Jon shook his head, “it has to be Edd’s bull,” she’d already started to make her way toward the very familiar barn, Jon following alongside. 

“Edd,” he called, seeing a figure setting the bar of the barn on the ground and pulling the door open. The man, for it was very obviously a man, didn’t flinch at the sound and went about his business. Slowly he emerged with the bull on a rope. “Edd?” Jon said louder, still the figure didn’t pay him any mind. 

“Jon,” she tugged at his arm, “I think he’s asleep.” She started to laugh, typical of this mountain to create an event like this. As Edd turned to return to his home, Jon hopped the fence and guided the bull back in. She was laughing when he returned, and he wrapped her in his cloak. 

The sound of his laugh joining hers made her laugh harder, until she couldn’t breathe. Arms around his middle she could feel the beat of his heart under her ear, and how it raced though they stood still.

“I love you,” he said, like he might not have meant to say such a thing aloud. She tensed against him at the declaration, was he teasing her? Could he feel the way her heart raced when she was so close to him? Then she thought, there was no room for lies when they were wrapped together in his cloak. “You don’t have to say anything, if you don’t feel the same. I would wait forever until you did, I’d wait weeks, and months, and years.”

Tears stung at her eyes, it was all she’d ever dreamed of hearing. “There’s no need to wait,” she said into his bicep. 

“Truly?” he asked, tipping her chin up to meet his eyes. She nodded, and started to laugh all over again when he picked her up around her waist, spinning her in a display that was most unlike the Jon she knew. The pail was forgotten at her feet, and she could see the first traces of dawn breaking. He pulled her to him, kissing her breathless.

“You’re going to be exhausted,” she murmured against his neck, where she pressed her nose. The telltale signs of dawn were beginning on the mountain, casting a hazy blue glow across its hills.

“Could you sacrifice a day in the valley?” He asked. “I want to take you to meet my cousin.”

“Grenn?” she wondered, he couldn’t possibly mean another cousin. 

“The Queen.”

***  
Sansa wept at her first wedding, and despite her declaration, the vow she made to herself, she wept at her second one too. She smiled apologetically at Jon who stood across from her with a solemn look on his face. Solemn, but he gripped her hands in his with a tenderness their first wedding lacked. Unlike their first wedding her tears were accompanied by a smile she couldn’t rid herself of. 

His rough hand cupped her face, thumb brushing the swell of her lip before he kissed her. Jon was the only man who had ever kissed her, and she thought a kiss was a kiss and nothing more. This kiss made her ache all over, and it was chaste as could be. They were surrounded by people after all. 

The celebrations separated them. She understood that she would have to share him with his kingdom, just as he shared her with the Valley; it was selfish to long for a moment between the two of them. Still, they were just married, it had been hours and she’d hardly been allowed to stand alongside him. 

“Can we get away for a while?” Jon leaned into her as the moon rose higher in the sky. Their guests kept the fire burning bright, and even the mild-mannered valley-dwellers were in high spirits. 

“Do you think they’ll notice?” Sansa slipped her hand into his, relieved that she wasn’t alone in her desire to have him to herself. Before he could answer her she was leading him away, down the stream.

“I don’t care if they do to be honest,” he followed her, pausing on occasion to ease her against a tree and kiss her breathless until she started to laugh.

“Not right here, I have something I want to show you,” and the desire that flashed in Jon’s eyes made her consider staying in this very spot and letting him have his way with her. Admittedly they did linger against that tree longer than she intended, and when they broke away the laces of his shirt were loosened, and the crown of flowers that she wore during the ceremony sat askew on her head. 

“It’s not much farther,” she tipped her chin up when his lips traced the underside of her jaw. “Jon,”

“Right,” his eyes were nearly black in the shadows of the trees, but when they caught the moonlight she could nearly make out the thin silver rings around his pupils. She wasn’t lying when she promised they weren’t far away with sure, careful steps she led him to a point where the trees surrounded a grove of ferns.

“Shireen and I found this place one day when we walked along the stream.” She turned to smile at him, “we made a little shelter just over here, it’s perfect for,” she bit her lip feeling herself flush, “for this.” 

His brows lifted teasingly, and she clicked her tongue. “It allows for privacy,” she explained, “unless you’d rather someone find us.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that.” He agreed, letting her lead him into the ferns and divest him of his jerkin.

It was hours later, when Jon was pulling twigs from her hair, that she realized though they could not be seen, surely they were heard. She could feel the beginnings of Jon’s beard under her hand when she peered up from his chest to look upon him. He turned his head to kiss her palm, before retuning to her hair, which she was sure was free from twigs but took pleasure in knowing he liked it. 

“Do we have to go home?” She wondered tipping her chin up, wondering if she looked as thoroughly   
as Jon. He kissed her brow, grabbing her under the arms to pull her up so he could reach her mouth. Her lips felt swollen when she pulled away.

“You’re here.” He said, tucking his arm behind his head. “If you told me this is where you wanted to stay, we’d stay.”

“So if I wanted to live in a cave, or in a tent by the stream?”

“You’d never want to live in a tent on the stream, but if you wanted to we would. You’re my home, where you go I probably won’t be far behind.” 

“Really?” She couldn’t keep the grin off of her face. He shrugged, stretching she pushed herself off of him. “Let’s go back.”

And as they rode up the mountain Sansa wondered if life would always feel so sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://www.sansapotter.tumblr.com)


End file.
